Not Today
by ZeDancingHobbit
Summary: "At first all seems fine, but then she sees his hand covering a spot on his stomach on the left side. There's blood seeping out between his fingers." Jeremy!whump. One-shot. Complete. T for language. Light Blairemy.


**Yes. I am a terrible updater. But I've encountered a bit of writers block, and these angsty terrible little one shots help clear my head. So. Here I am. I decided to give Mal a break and pick on Jeremy a bit. Woo. Blaisebird for life.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own CoD**

**Warnings: Language. Because I imagine, under pressure, Blaise gets a pretty foul tongue. Also mentions of sex. And blood. Weee.**

OoOoO

This was a bad idea.

Blaise grits her teeth as she fires another round at a mob goon, sending him down with a yelp and spray of blood. Under normal circumstances, she would feel that smug feeling rise in her gut, but today she is too worried to rejoice at her marksmanship.

They should never have come. They had been tracking a string of murder victims to a smaller Italian mafia mob. All the evidence had led them to believe the perp, one Tony Barcelli, had been hiding out in a huge, abandoned warehouse near the harbor. Turns out, he was.

Along with about 50 thugs.

That was how Blaise and Jeremy came to be in a shootout, with the odds stacked highly against them. Sure, Blaise was cocky, but she knew when to admit they needed to retreat. And this was such a time.

"Think we got time to make a break for it?" she asks, sending another bullet out into the crowd.

"I dunno," Jeremy replies, gnawing the inside of his cheek. "We might have a gap if we time it right. But you're right, I think we should fall back."

"If we can. How...about...now!" And with that, she sends a flurry of bullets out and rolls to the ground, dodging behind boxes and making for the hallway. At the end of the hallway and through a large room on the right is the exit. The only problem is getting there. Damn huge warehouse.

"Blaise!" Jeremy hisses, but he follows like the good "rookie" he is. Blaise is his superior officer, after all. And he's kind of in love with her. Soo...what can he do but follow?

Soon they're sprinting down the hallway, firing off the occasional shout at the Italian horde clamoring for their heads. Bullets whizz past, but none come even close to hitting them.

Except one.

"Blaise, watch out-" Jeremy exclaims, turned around in a firing position, then tackles her forward. Well, she goes forward. He kind of falls backward, his back landing on her butt as they fall to the ground in a flurry of arms and legs. The breath is knocked out of them both for a few seconds, but Jeremy fights his way upwards and tugs her arm until she is standing. "Come on," he orders, and then they're running again.

They've switched places now, Jeremy running ahead and grasping Blaise's hand. He's breathing heavily, and Blaise wonders if he's getting out of shape, until she realizes he's limping.

"What's wrong, Jer?" she asks.

"Nothing."

"Redbird..."

"I'm fine, just rolled my ankle. Come on."

She leaves it at that, concentrating on getting their asses out of there. They swing into the room and pull the door shut, slamming down the locking bar over the door and pushing a few boxes in front of it. Blaise places her hands on her hips and begins to jog towards the exit.

They're almost there when Jeremy trips and lets out a grunt, hitting the cement floor hard.

"C'mon, Redbird, what's the matter with you today, you're-" But she trails off as she catches sight of the concrete that he's struggling to stand up on.

Red.

"Jeremy?" she whispers, a sudden terror stealing her stomach.

"I-I'm-" he begins, but she cuts him off.

"Don't give me that 'I'm fine' BS, Redbird, as your senior officer I'm ordering you to turn around and tell me what the hell is wrong," she snaps.

Jeremy freezes. His back tenses, and for a few seconds Blaise think he's not going to comply, but then he begins turning. At first all seems fine, but then she sees his hand covering a spot on his stomach on the left side. There's blood seeping out between his fingers. They move aside to reveal a bullet hole swiftly turning his pristine white shirt a deep red.

"Ohmygod," she breathes out in horror. No, no, please don't let this be happening. Please.

"It's nothing-" he grinds out, but then he starts to topple over and Blaise rushes over to him and loops his arm around her shoulder as support. She swears under her breath as they start to make their way towards the exit. It's a good thing too, because she can hear Italian voices yelling at each other as they bang on the metal door.

The two officers arrive at the exit and fling the door open, momentarily blinded by the bright sunlight. Jeremy sags in her grip, and she hoists him up. "Nuh-uh, c'mon, Jer," she prompts him, and he fights his way upward once more. They stumble to the alleyway where they parked the car, and Blaise deposits him in the passenger seat. She rips off her blazer and presses it to the wound, eliciting a hiss of pain.

"I know it hurts, but we need to keep the pressure on, okay?"

He nods and puts his hand over hers, pushing down as hard as he's able to. She doesn't bother strapping his seat belt in and runs around to the driver's seat, all the while calling it in on her radio. "This is 15-20, officer down, repeat, officer down." Her mind is working furiously. They can't stay here, they'll be dead within a minute. The nearest hospital is 15 minutes away... Well, there isn't any help for it. She'll just have to turn on the sirens and hope for the best. "Notify the hospital and tell them to be ready. Setting is not safe for an ambulance." She swallows hard and peels out of the alleyway.

None too soon, because the swarm comes piling out of the building just in time to see the car zooming away out of reach.

OoOoO

Jeremy moans as a swift turn jars him, sending pain rocketing up his nerves. He bites his lip so hard it starts to bleed in order to keep himself from crying out any more. He cannot let himself be as weak as that. Blaise is already worried enough.

The world starts to swim in front of his eyes, making him dizzy and faint. His eyelids start to close and his head droop, but he's stopped by Blaise's "Jeremy, wake up. Don't you dare fall asleep on me, you hear?"

His head snaps up and he manages to stammer out an apology. It's probably unneeded, of course, because he's kind of dying at the moment, but, being Jeremy, he does it anyways.

His teeth starts to chatter as chills make their way up and down his spine, and he's slumped backward in his seat. He chokes and gasps for breath as he tastes something nasty and metallic on his tongue. That's not good. Is it? He can't remember, and he's pretty sure that in itself isn't good. Shock. Oh, dear. He's going into shock.

He starts going over the Miranda Rights in his head, something he's found helps him stay calm, but he can't remember them. Oh, god, he can't remember them, and that scares him, because he always knows the rights, he always knows, and that can't be good. His heart rate starts to accelerate and his breathing pick up, his chest bouncing up and down as he struggles to get oxygen.

"Blaise?" he chokes out.

She looks over at him concernedly. "What's wrong?"

"Blaise, I can't remember the rights," he confesses, his voice tight.

"What rights?"

"The M-Miranda Rights, Blaise, I always rem-member them, and I can't-I can't-" Oh, god, he's stammering. He can't talk. Or breath. Or think.

"Jeremy, you need to calm down, okay, calm down. That's not helping. Concentrate on your breathing. I don't know why you care about the damn Miranda Rights right now, but that's not out highest priority. Okay?"

He nods and focuses on her voice. In, out, in, out, in, out, in...out...

"Blaise?"

A sigh. "What, Jeremy?"

"I need to tell you s-somethin..." His voice is starting to slur. Oh, dear Jesus, saints, whoever, oh, god...

"Oh, no, we are not having this conversation," she dates flatly.

"No, I need-"

"Stop it."

"I might die, Blaise!"

That quiets her, and gives him enough time to continue. "P-please, just give me this, please?"

She seems about to relent, but shakes her head. "Shut up, Jeremy. You're gonna be fine."

Great. She won't give him this. He would sigh, but that hurts too much, so he blindly places his hand over the armrest in hopes it'll come into contact with hers. Thankfully, it brushes it lightly, and she glances down. Her face softens, and she takes it in hers and gives it a light squeeze.

"You're gonna be okay," she whispers, and brings his bloodstained hand up to her lips and plants a kiss on it with her soft lips. God, he loves those lips.

Suddenly, the relative peace is shattered as a car tears out in front of them. She slams on the breaks and Jeremy sucks in his breath as agony rips at his abdomen. "Goddamn fucking asshole!" she yells, applying the horn liberally. "I got a fucking injured officer! I could fucking arrest you!" She shakes her head and grits her teeth as they take off again.

She continues swearing under her breath as they near their destination, but it's getting harder and harder to keep his eyes open. He slowly, ever so slowly, is sucked into the ever inviting black hole of oblivion. His fingers release their hold on the sticky blazer, his hand releases his hold on Blaise's, and he loses his grip on reality. Darkness falls.

"Je..my! Wak...p!"

"J..y?"

"...emy!"

OoOoO

She peels into the hospital parking lot, leaving tire tracks on the asphalt as she executes the worst parking job she's ever done in her life. She rips her seat belt off and tears around to the other side of the car. She yanks the door open and hauls Jeremy upwards. His head lolls forward and he falls limply. Damn, he's heavy. All that muscle mass. Almost too heavy for her, but he's her junior officer and under her charge and kind of her boyfriend and she wants to have sex again and DAMMIT he is not going to die today. So she tightens her grip around his side, shoves her hand onto the wound, and stumbles forward. He moans in pain, but she ignores it and enters the automatic glass doors. "I need a doctor!" she screams out, and looky there, there are the doctors she'd requested. They relieve her of the burden and place him on a stretcher, already sticking needles and fluids into his skin. They ask her questions: "Name?" "Age?" "Approximately how long ago was he injured?" and she babbles out answers as fast as she can, until they race him away to surgery, leaving her to wait alone in the waiting room.

She has his blood covering her skin. And it terrifies her because it means she might not be able to see him again.

OoOoO

He wakes up to the sound of heart monitors and machines; the smell of sterilization and medicine, the sight of light and brightness. He lets out a groan at the sudden assailment of senses, and alerts another presence in the room that he is awake

"Heya," she greets him, and he peers in her direction to see a blurry human with blonde hair.

"Huh?" he murmurs, and eventually his vision steadies until he recognizes her as Blaise. Blaise Corso. His partner. His kind of girlfriend. The love of his life. That Blaise Corso.

"Hey," he groans out in return, his voice dry and cracking, and reaches up to rub his face. He feels a twinge and realizes he has a IV drip stuck in his hand. He looks at it in surprise. "Wait, how'd I get here?"

"Magic," Blaise answers in a bemused voice.

He cuts his eyes at her and she grins. "Ah, I gotcha here in time. Not much to spare, though," she adds, her voice growing a bit serious. "The bullet tore some of your organs. Had some internal bleeding going on. We cut it pretty close."

"Thank you," he whispers, somber in realizing just how close he came to death, but she waves him away nonchalantly.

"Don't mention it. It's what we do, ya know?"

He nods and gives her a half smile. "How long have I been out?"

"Eh, a couple of days. Kind of haven't been keeping track." She rubs her red tiredly.

"Have you gone home?"

"Yeah, a few hours a day, but...never for long..." She shifts uncomfortably. "You know," she changes the subject abruptly, "you say some funny shit when you're doped up."

"Oh yeah?"

"You recited me the Miranda Rights in Pig Latin. And said Anders has a head the size of Texas." She smirked. "Perhaps I should tell him that." At Jeremy's stricken face, she lets out a peal of her musical laughter. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding."

She stands up and brushes off her pant legs as a sudden wave of fatigue washes over him. As he stifles his yawn, she suppresses a smile. "Well, I'll let you get back to sleep while I go get some food. I'm starving." She begins to walk towards the door, but abruptly changes her mind and backtracks until she's standing by his bed. "Jeremy?"

"Yeah?"

"If you ever pull another goddamned stunt like that, I'll kill you myself. Understood?"

He raises two fingers in a mock salute. "Understood, ma'am."

She lets the corner of her mouth quirk upwards in a smile, just for a moment, before she stoops down and brushes her lips against his forehead. Then she's gone, clomping out of the room in those big boots of hers, and Jeremy is lulled to sleep by the receding sound.

It's one of his favorites.

~finis

OoOoO

**Please review and tell me what you think!**


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